Killer Edward
by darcyanastasia
Summary: When a debt he can't pay back puts Jasper's life in danger, he hires hit-man Edward Cullen to kill his mother, who everybody hates, to collect her 50,000 dollar life insurance. However, Jasper can't afford Cullen's upfront fee, so Edward makes him an offer. He keeps Jasper's little sister, sixteen year old Bella, as collateral until the insurance comes through. B/E POV
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you for coming along to the party! This is going to be a Edward & Bella meets Killer Joe story. The first chapter is going to be Jasper's POV but after that it'll be Edward and Bella with maybe a few tiny little interjections from Jasper if it's necessary to the plot. Not Beta'd, mistakes are mine.**

**WARNING: Bella is 16 and Edward is 25 and that right there is probably enough to offend some people. Also, Bella is very emotionally stunted and childlike, so people may feel as though she is being taken advantage of.**

**OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: Neither Twilight and the relevant characters or the plot of Killer Joe belong to me.**

* * *

**Jasper POV**

Fucking, _fuck._

I was shitting bricks.

This wasn't supposed to happen to me. I was supposed to be one of the guys who went about his business all smart-like. Just sell my supply in my neighbourhood and be done. I wasn't trying to be the coke king of Dallas. I wasn't trying to move up or step on nobody's toes. I had no delusions of grandeur. I didn't want to make enough to live big. Just make enough to live. Period.

This kind of shit happened to asshole idiots who didn't know when to say when. Or accept that you got to answer to somebody. When you're selling blow, it's dangerous to try and be your own boss.

So I don't. I just buy from the big guys and sell around town and it's never been a problem. I never got in trouble.

Fucking mom.

I slammed my first against the steering wheel once, twice, and let out an aggravated groan between my teeth.

I'm going to fucking die.

I drove down the gravel road to the complex of shoddy tin units, one of which was my father's. Being a line worker in a stamping factory wasn't exactly an advantageous job, so my dad's place was basically one step up from a trailer park. My mom's place was nicer, which is why it's where I've mostly was bucketing down and the rain pelting my windscreen meant I had to swerve at the last minute to narrowly avoid hitting dad's Rottweiler, Bully.

I shifted the car in the park and hunched my back as I stepped out to protect my smoke from being snubbed out by the rain.

Bully went nuts and starting growling and barking at my proximity to the house.

"Shut the fuck up you little savage!" I yelled over the top of the rain.

I ran up to the door and started pounding. "Dad! Open up! It's Jasper!" It took a few minutes, but Tanya, my father's wife of three years, opened the door and being a few steps higher than me, my face was directly in line with her crotch. Which was naked.

"Christ, Tanya! Put some fucking pants on!" I bemoaned as I pushed past her none-to-gently and stepped into the house. "How long does it take you to open the fucking door. I was fucking dying out there." I walked towards the kitchen, peeling off my sopping jacket, jumper and undershirt and dropped them on the tiled floor with a wet slop as I opened the fridge and helped myself to a beer.

Tanya, hot on my heels, bit back, "It's 2.45 in the morning you little jerk. And "fucking" is not an adjective you stupid hick." Still naked except for a tiny camisole, she leaned back into the counter glaring at me. Bush on full display.

"I'm a hick? I'm not the one who answers the door pussy-first…"

"Who the fuck is it Tan?" My father yelled from another room, sounding freshly woken and very agitated. He walked out, scratching his Magnum moustache and beer belly simultaneously. He spotted me, "Chris, what the fuck? Did your mother kick you out again?" He questioned gruffly, looking none-too-pleased to see me.

"You hit her again?" Tanya interjected, scoffing at me.

"No! No, I did not her. Now can you please go put some fucking clothes on?" Tanya pushed off the counter while rolling her eyes and left the room. My father came and took her spot.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" I ignored my father's question for a few moments and threw back half my beer in one scull.

"Where's Bells?" I asked instead of answering.

"Bed, sleeping." I nodded, staring distractedly towards her door. After the cluster-fuck of a week I had I kind of wanted to go into her room. Just to look at her curled up in bed. Sixteen and innocent and too sweet for this life. For this world even. Maybe that would be the motivation I needed to go on with what I think I'm going to have to do.

"Look…" he continued, "If your ma kicked you out again you can sleep on the couch tonight but then tomorrow you need to go make your peace with her or figure something else out, because Tan will have my nuts if I just let you stay here."

Acknowledging this with another nod I told him "Get dressed; we're going to go talk."

"We can't talk here?"

"No, we need to talk privately."

* * *

My father and I were at Lucky Lad, a strip club, drinking beers.

"Jasper" my father hedged "can you please just get the fuck on with it and tell me why I'm here."

I turned to him and sighed. "I need six grand Charlie. I need it or the Volturi boys are going to kill me." My father's face showed nothing but exasperation. "If you could just loan me a grand, I could hold 'em off with a grand while I figure something else out."

"Son," he laughed "I haven't had a grand to my name at any given time my entire life." He stared at me for a few moments, then; more seriously said "What's going on? What did you do?"

Frustrated, I pulled on my hair at the sides of my head. "_I_ didn't _do_ anything!" Fucking mom!"

"What does your mother have to do with you owing six grand to the Volturi cunts?" My father leaned in.

"Well, because that's about what the coke she stole from me was worth."

"Bullshit," he scoffed "Renee doesn't do coke. Your mother wouldn't touch that shit."

"She didn't use it recreationally dad. She fucking sold it. She screwed me the fuck over and then gave the money to her boy toy Phil to blow on the ponies. So now I got no coke, and no money to hand over." I slammed my hand against the table we were sat at, frustrated and fucking _scared._

"Well kid, I'm sorry but I can't do anything for you." I inhaled long and deep, steeling myself for what I was to say to my father.

"Maybe not, but I think there's something who can." My father raised a bushy brow, silently telling me to continue. "Ever heard of Edward Cullen?" My father shook his head. "He's a detective at the county Sheriff's department, but he's got a job on the side. He's a killer."

"As in…"

"As in a professional killer. You pay and he takes care of it."

"So you want to get this cop to take down the Volturi boys?" He asks, looking at me like I'm a nutter.

"No." I tell him, looking him dead in the eye. The part that I'm about to tell him really does make me a nutter. "Mom."

He laughs, like I'm joking. "You don't got two cents to rub together, and you want to _pay_ some guy to kill your mother because you're all sore that she stole some coke from you?" He sputters around his laughs. "Your mother is miserable bitch, and of all the shitty things she's done, that's probably the least worthy of killing her over."

"Dad." He's still laughing. "Dad!" He focuses his attention back on me. "Mom has life insurance for _fifty thousand dollars_." I look at him intently, waiting for him to see where I'm going with this. Realisation dawns on his face, but he doesn't balk. Or punch me. So I take it as a good sign to continue. "Bells is the beneficiary. This Cullen guy charges 15 grand. Does the job neat and clean, and is usually the officer investigating his own murders. He makes it go away. We pay him and split the other thirty-five three ways. Fifteen for me, ten for you and ten for Bells. I pay off my debt, Bells will be able to go to college and have a decent shot at life and you can do whatever the hell you want dad."

I wait for dad to respond but he's already sold. I can see it. He doesn't give a shit about mom and ten grand is too good to pass up.

"So how do we know this won't fuck up and the two of us won't end up bunk-mates in a cell?" I smile.

* * *

I pull back up to my dad's. Discussing the finer details of my plan. How to get in contact with Cullen and how to convince him to kill first and collect his payment later.

"Most importantly, you cannot tell Bells what's going on. She can't find out."

"Of course, of course" he murmurs, then looks past me, out my wound-down window. I turn my head around.

Bells is out the front in the pouring rain at 4.15. She's got this vacant look on her face. She's sleep-walking. She's been doing it since we were kids. It's fucking creepy and weird. But Bells has always been a little weird and off-kilter. She's innocent in every sense of the word and has an almost cripplingly naïve view of the world. She acts like a little kid.

We both used to live with mom after our parents got divorced when we she was six and I was twelve, but when Bells was eight, she almost suffocated in her sleep and was in a coma for a couple of days. After she got better, she went to stay with dad. She never talks about it, but that's probably because she's barely capable of having a serious conversation. After a while, when the years were passing but she wasn't mentally maturing, we took her back to the doctor and found out those precious minutes her brain was cut off from oxygen, left her a little brain damaged.

She's very childlike. Kinda just stuck. She doesn't really have any friends. She's never been on a date. Her bedroom looks like a unicorn threw-up a rainbow and plush toys all over it. She's been to doctors therapists though and they seem to think the fact that she's kind of stunted is a mental issue, not a physical one. They say there's no reason that she couldn't get on with it, grow up and have a normal life, except for the fact that she doesn't seem to want to.

She walks over to the car.

"What are you doing here?" she asks me in her trance.

"Mom kicked me out again."

"Did you build this city all by yourself?" She asks in wonder.

"Every last brick of it sweetheart." I smile at her. You learn to play along with whatever she says when she's like this. I don't want to confuse or startle her. And they say you shouldn't wake people up while they're sleep-walking.

She turns around and walks back into the house. Creepy.

"All righty then. I want to get at least another couple hours sleep before I need to go to work. Let's go in and set up the couch." My father says and I follow him into the shitty unit.

When we walk in the door, Bells is standing right there. Just staring at us unblinkingly. _Really_ creepy.

"I heard you guys talking about killing mom." She tells us. She's absolutely still. Still with that vacant look on her face. "I think it's a good idea." She turns and walks to her bedroom, leaving me and my father staring after her. It's safe to assume she's still out of it, but I hope she doesn't remember any of this in the morning.

**Thank-you!**

**And please leave your thoughts, I enjoy feedback just as much as the next guy.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! I'm going to try and get these first few chapters out of the way as quickly as possibly so people can get a feel for the story. This is the first chapter in Edward's POV, and I hope the story isn't headed in a different direction than people first expected when reading.**

**Disclaimer: Twilight and Killer Joe belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

**Edward POV**

Convenience.

Being a cop is so convenient when you also happen to be a professional murderer.

This last job I accepted was particularly simple. The ease of it leaving me in a terrific mood. I was contacted by a woman who wanted her husband dead. He beat her. Badly. Frequently. Of course I did not see myself as some noble quasi-Dexter type, only killing people who deserved to die. For the right price I'd kill my own mother. However, I always got particular satisfaction out of killing the assholes.

She'd called the station saying her husband was drunk and aggressive. All part of the plan to authenticate his guilt. I had said to the boss that I'd make the trip. No one offered to come as back-up. With a department this small they could really only afford to dispatch one man, unless it was something big. So I knew there'd be no witnesses. I showed up at the woman's house. She answered the door. Her husband was drunk. He usually was. This was good though, it helped validate our story.

I shot him.

My report says he had a knife to his wife's throat. I had to go for the kill shot. I had no choice. Really, he was watching a football game with a beer.

Pictures she'd taken of her battered-self in secret after his past outbursts and the little surface wound I'd carefully given her neck with one of her kitchen knives was enough to condemn him in the eyes of everyone. No questions were asked.

I filed my report, knowing as I did that I'd get away with it.

It's five; time to clock-out. I pass the receptionist Jessica as I'm leaving and she gives a sexy little smile. I know women find me attractive. Dallas, having such a small police department, didn't issue dumpy uniforms, the boys on the job just had to dress smart and women seemed to like me in jeans and a button up.

I've considered fucking Jessica, but I can't bring myself to do it. Mostly because I really just hate the general human populous. Being in my line of work…both of them…you really see the worst of people. It's enough to make anyone Jaded. Not that I have any right to be so self-righteous. And I'm not. I just can't be bothered with people.

I give her a warm and friendly smile anyway, because I'm nothing if not polite. People always think that the people to avoid, the dangerous ones, are the ones who seem different, or socially inept in some way. But you know what? I heard that Ted Bundy was pretty fucking charming. And so am I.

* * *

My house is nice. Really nice. I do an average of about 6-8 hits a year. It keeps me living well. I'd do more, but to be honest there just isn't much interest for in this area, and I don't like to travel too far for a job. Of course there are questions about how a small town cop affords a house like mine, a car like mine. Inheritance I tell them. An uncle who died with more money than he knew what to do with.

I have a voicemail on the mobile I keep for my…extracurricular business.

Jasper Swan, looking to set up a preliminary meeting. Says he wants to know what I'm all about. I sigh. He better not be one of these bastards who makes me sit around while he "ums" and "ahs" and wants me to pat him on the back and assuage his guilt.

I called him.

"Yeah?" Was the answer I received. This kid sounded young.

"You left me a message."

"Edward Cullen?" He sounded a lot less disinterested now. I sat down at the mahogany desk in my study and took out a notepad.

"Yes." I answered simply.

"Oh. Uh, wow. I suppose I didn't expect you to call back so soon." He strung out nervously.

"Well I did." I said, becoming impatient.

"Oh no. I mean yeah. It's cool man. I just…well. What happens now?" I sighed.

"Well before I bother meeting you, I'll need you to tell me the basics of what you want, so I can decide if I'm even amenable." I told him, clicking my pen agitatedly.

"You mean like who I want you to kill and stuff?" He asked. I waited, not bothering to answering. "Um. Well, my mom. It's my mom." This time my lack of answer stemmed from surprise. I was quite taken aback, then I remembered my earlier internal monologue, and thinking I'd kill my own mother for the right price, and decided it was not my place to judge.

"Why?" I asked and started to list off bullet points on my notepad.

"Does it matter?" He shot back, sounding annoyed.

I sighed again, loud and purposeful, so he'd head that he was pissing me off. "Yes, it matters. If you have a volatile past relationship with your mother, and there's any reason you might be a suspect in the case I don't want any part of it. I need to know the exact circumstances of your situation."

"I might be a suspect? Look buddy, you're a cop. Isn't the reason I'm calling you because you'll make sure that _won't _happen?" Fucking turd getting smart with me.

"Listen kid. I'm incredibly efficient. If I wasn't I'd be behind bars. I just need to know the semantics. If you can't even give me that then you're wasting my time." I was seconds away from hanging up.

"Ok, ok. I'm just…not sure about how these types of things are meant to go. I want her dead so I can get her insurance payout. I'm in debt and I've got some guys on my ass who want me dead if I don't pay up." Money. Of course. The biggest motivating factor in the world. My motivating factor.

"Where do you want to meet?" I asked, just wanting this call to be over.

"You can come by my father's house." He rattled off an address which I scribbled on my notepad.

"Ok. Fine. I'll come by at five tomorrow."

"Um, actually, five thirty works better for me." He hedged.

"I'll see you at five tomorrow, Mr. Swan. Goodbye." I hung up.

* * *

It was 4.51 when I pulled up at Jasper Swan's father's crappy little shack the next day. I stepped out of the car and frowned at the Rottweiler going berserk. I walked up the few steps to the front door. There was a full window adjacent to it, with the curtains pulled back. Inside I could see a girl standing in the centre of a small lounge facing the television.

From what I could see of her, it was obvious she was quite young. Her body was more girlish than womanly, but lush enough to make me pause and shamelessly admire her for a few moments. She was all long limbs and sweet curves in denim shorts and a white t-shirt. Her hair was long, brown and wavy and pulled into a high pony that was bouncing with her energetic movements.

She was mimicking what she was watching on the television. Some kind of kung-Fu movie. Kicking her legs high with her hands stretched flat and slicing through the air while she made ridiculous, cliché karate noises. I shook my head and smile to myself, wondering if all young girls secretly carried on like ten year boys when they thought they were alone.

I knocked on the door, but she didn't notice. The television was absolutely blaring. After knocking once more I decided to just open the door and walk in.

"That looks hard." I said from the doorway, commenting on her karate attempts.

"Argh!" She let out a high-pitched scream and jumped a few feet back. "Who are you?" She asked suspiciously.

"My name is Edward Cullen." I told her and held my hands up in the universal "I mean you no harm" gesture.

She let out a huff and placed one hand against her throat, and the other on her breast, over her heart. "You scared me to death!"

"Excuse me." I said as I picked up the remote from the nearby coffee table and turned off the obnoxiously loud movie. "I apologise," I continued. "I knocked on the door but you didn't hear me."

"That's ok." She said ducking her head self-consciously, crossing her hands to wrap around the opposite forearm of each. Apparently she was quite shy. She made me think of a little doll. Drastically different from the teenagers of today that I'm used to encountering.

"That looks hard. Learning from the TV. like that." I said while nodding towards it. "You should get yourself a teacher." I said whilst bending at the knees to meet her eye level. She wasn't short, maybe just a head smaller than myself, but something about her demeanour made her seem so little. She looked up at me, so I held out my hand to her. "Hi, I'm Edward Culled." She uncrossed her arms to take my hand. "I'm supposed to meet Jasper here." I said while shaking her warm, soft, tiny hand.

"He's not here." She answered quietly, letting go of my hand.

"Oh, well I am a little early." I told her easily.

"Well he's usually late." She told me, matter-of-factly.

I sighed. "Can I trouble you for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure. Why don't you sit down and I'll take your jacket." She came up off behind me while a shrugged it off.

"Can I ask your name?" I said while she was hanging up my jacket on a rack.

"I'm Bella."

I smiled. "Hello Bella."

"Hi" she breathed out a laugh and smiled back then went about making my coffee. She walked over to the sink to fill the coffee pot. I stared at her. At the baby fine on her neck, too short to make it into her ponytail.

"What?" She asked, possibly feeling my perusal of her. "What are you? Like, what do you do?"

"I'm a detective." I told her. This earned another smile.

"Really?" Her voice was a lot perkier now. "Like Magnum P.I.?"

"No." I laughed, feeling like I was speaking to a child. Which I guess she was. Looking at her now it was quite obvious she was just a little girl, no older than sixteen or seventeen. She had clear, guileless hazel eyes set in a sweet soft face. "He's a private detective. I'm with the Dallas Police Department."

"Yeah, and he ain't real either."

"No. He isn't." I shook my head, pondering for a moment if maybe this girl was a bit simple, you know? Not all mentally clued-in. "I'm real."

She looked at me for a moment before continuing. "I read it's nothing like them shows with car chases and all." She stirred my coffee.

"Mmm." I agreed. "A lot of paper work though."

"I read that some cops go their whole lives without drawing their guns." She smiled.

"Probably true." She put the coffee down in front of me.

"You ever drawn your gun?" She asked as she sat down across from me, pulling her legs up on the chair and wrapping her arms around them.

"Oh sure."

"You ever shot anyone?" She asked with a look of childlike wonder on her face. Like a kindergartener student meeting a fireman.

"Yes."

"Did they die?"

"They have, yes."

"Wow." As she stared at me the landline phone started ringing but she ignored it.

"You going to answer that?" I asked.

"It's for you." She told me. I looked at her strangely, but went to pick up the phone anyway.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Mr. Cullen! Look man, I'm sorry, my dad couldn't get off work so we were wondering if you could come meet us down here." He said and told me his father's workplace.

"Is there someplace private there that we can talk?"

"There's an abandoned pool house next door that'll be just fine. Bring Bella, she'll show you the way." He told me.

"Don't change plans on me again." I told him and then hung up.

"Are you going to kill my mama?" Bella asked casually as I put down the phone, taking me by surprise.

"I don't know. Why?"

"I was curious." She said, as if enquiring about something entirely mundane.

"My mama tried to kill me when I was real little." She told me unemotionally. "When I was eight she put a pillow over my face while I was sleeping until I stopped breathing. And she was happy because she thought she'd done it." Here she paused, and smiled. "But she didn't. She just made me a little sick, made me not be for a while." She laughed, and I was stunned by her blasé attitude towards what she was telling me. "But then I was again, and she was sad that I was, and that I always will be." Her smile was beatific and for whatever reason, possibly shock, I smiled back.

Thinking about her mother now, I knew this was one of the jobs I could feel good about carrying out.

* * *

**Thank-you! Please let me know if you like where this is going, or if you think I'm wasting my time. **

**Also I've gone back and fixed some errors with the first chapter.**


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